Author: Wendy W. Blumberg

Big Blue, 1971

Wendy W. Blumberg
1971 No Cal Road Trip

“Big Blue,” summer 1971, somewhere in Northern California

Hello, everyone … I want to introduce to you our wonderful 1964 Buick station wagon, a gift from my mother and grandmother, costing $4,000, a huge sum back then that Steve and I could never have afforded! During the late 1960’s, we took several trips to Dallas, Texas in this Buick, to visit Steve’s mother, oldest brother, and his wife. So we were in practice by August of l970 when we piled into “Big Blue” and began a cross-country drive to our new home in Manhattan Beach, California—stopping in Dallas on the way. Our two dogs flew!

Now, back then there were no such things as seat belts. All four of our young children shared a big picnic basket, filled with cookies, string cheese, peanut butter crackers and other not too healthy items, which sustained them as they rode, untethered, in the back of “Big Blue” whose back two rows of seats had been lowered to accommodate them. There they were, rolling around with no restraints to keep them safe—laughing, squabbling, eating, playing games. I shudder to remember. And I cried most of the way, having left my mother and step-father back in Illinois without their four grandchildren; how could I have been so cruel!

Well, we settled happily in Manhattan Beach, in a house that was an easy walk to a wonderful beach. Then, in August of l971 we were invited to meet Steve’s oldest brother and his family in Yosemite, before moving on to a rented house on Lake Tahoe. We were so excited—Yosemite! Another big trip in “Big Blue” and off we went. Unfortunately, none of us were able to get accommodations on the valley floor; everything had been booked long before we’d decided to go there. Soooo … this meant we had to drive the winding road down to the valley floor from our motel, down and up again, down and up again, the three days we were there.

Yosemite1971

From left: Andy, Uncle Stanley, Dina, Ann, Aunt Margie, Danny, Ronny, Louis, Wendy

Now it happened that two of our little boys were extremely prone to getting carsick , and that is what happened on that winding road going down and then again up, to and from the valley floor. And they didn’t need to stop at the same time; each one got sick at different times so we were stopping and starting to let them out by the side of the winding road at least twice going and coming.

“Daddy, pull over, I have to throw up!”

I felt so sorry for them, having had the same problem when I was their ages, as had their father when he was a little boy. So we were very sympathetic and grateful the other two, their sister and older brother, had not inherited the malady! But we all had a wonderful time on the valley floor, and then at the motel above it.

1971 San Franciso Days

As I gaze at the images of “Big Blue” and my 70’s-clad family posing for a San Francisco moment, I have happy memories. It gives me great joy to recall that August when we drove from Lake Tahoe all the way to San Francisco, and back down the coast to our new home in Manhattan Beach.

Thank you for taking the ride with me down memory lane. I’m having such fun sharing with you here, so thanks for stopping by!

Love … Wendy

Beginning

Wendy W. Blumberg

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I leave my house

With no backward glance

It was time to go

Time to downsize

Others call it

For me     it is letting

Go

Of things     of rooms

No longer needed

I take the memory

Of its sheltering

With me

The memory

Of those I love

Around my table

On the sofa

The fireplace ablaze

On winter days

I take pictures

Gathered over years

And store them in my

Mind

Of my children     of Mother

My father

Friends

Some now gone

Some still here

It doesn’t matter

Where I am

They live in my heart

Live in a memory

Of what was left behind

Yesterday

But is become fertile

Ground

For a new life evolving

Today

          –Dedicated with love to Esta and Harvey Nelson, August 2014

*Photo Credit

Poem For Our Fifty-Eighth Wedding Anniversary

Wendy W. Blumberg

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June 17, 2014

Here we are
My Love
At the very edge
Of our fifty-eight years
Of married life
Ready to step through
The wide open door   
Into our fifty-ninth
Such a wondrous journey
It is
Each era of our lives
A canvas
Filled with all colors
On the spectrum
A color wheel of hues
Brilliant   vibrant   penetrating
Every minute   every hour
Every breath   every heartbeat
Seldom dimmed
 
Oh the gratitude
We feel
The blessings Spirit
Gives to us
Like grains of pure
White sugar sand
Too numerous to count
But name them we do
Our prayers of thankfulness
Hold them close
 
And you   my Love
Allow me to find
My truth
Of who I am
Accepting me
As I am
As I do you
 
Our love grew
While we grew
Truly children
When we began
Now
We are like the Rose Garden
In full bloom
We pass on our way
To dinner
In the Monterey dining
Room
Every flower
Beautiful   perfect
Unique on its own
Together   together
They are the garden
The Rose Garden
In all its splendor
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“Have enough courage to trust love one more time.” –Maya Angelou

Wendy W. Blumberg

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This photograph is of my beautiful mother, Alice, and my wonderful stepfather, Arnold, just after they were married. The image depicted took place at a club in downtown Chicago. Arnold’s large Stine family, and Alice’s small Wolbach family gathered in this rather fancy city club called the Standard Club to celebrate their marriage. Of course, Stephen, my adored husband, and I were there. None of our children, however, attended; they were too young to be dragged out of Waukegan where we lived, and into Chicago. (Waukegan’s claim to fame: the childhood home of Jack Benny, who had been a friend of Stephen’s family.)

It would have been late in the evening, and it was a forty mile drive, so none of Mama and Arnold’s grandchildren saw their wedding vows and participated in the festivities afterwards. I don’t remember too much, except that I wore a short blue dress. The Standard Club had a tradition when there was a special event to have the waiters march in with the dessert, which for the wedding reception was a flaming baked Alaska. This procedure, which I had witnessed on more than one occasion, always sent me into a paroxysm of giggling, which grew very difficult to suppress as the waiters advanced around the tables.

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This unfortunately was not the only time or place giggling overtook my composure. One evening in Orchestra Hall, again in downtown Chicago, Stephen and I were with my grandmother and my Aunt Bea in a smaller room, other than the large auditorium. It was a string quartet and one of the selections was a very modern piece–atonal, I called it. Well, the window overlooking Michigan Avenue was open; it must have been a summer night. There was a long note played by the violin held for quite a while, and at the same time–the exact same moment–a taxi horn sounded on the same note the violin was holding. That did it for Stephen and me–we hadn’t liked the music at all, and this taxi horn sounding the same note as the violin was too much to bear. We both went into a paroxysm of repressed giggling, which meant our shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding in our laughter. Aunt Bea gave us several looks of intense disapproval, which only made us shake more violently.

It was embarrassing, I will admit, but there is nothing that can stop a paroxysm of suppressed giggling–it has to subside on its own. Eventually, it did.

Thanks for the memories! This is such fun!

Children of the World

Wendy W. Blumberg

Guardian Angel, by Janop

This is the time

This is Now

To gather the children

Of the world

Into my heart

No matter

Who they are

No matter

Where they are

No matter

Colors of their skin

No matter

They be wise

No matter

Be they slow

They live inside

Me

With the Light

With the love

Of the Divine

 

Who gives the bounty

Mother Earth provides

Us all

But     Oh Divine Creator

There are children

In our world

Many children

Who live with empty

Bellies

Hollow eyes

Parasites in their

Guts

From dirty water

They drink

Bathe in

There are children

Many children

Around the world

Who know the terror

Of a mass shooting

The terror of war

Bombs     gunfire

People around them

Dying

Mothers     fathers

Siblings     schoolmates

Their minds     their dreams

Clogged with the

Memory

Of rape     pillaging     killing

 

Divine Creator

I call to you

Hear me

Help us stop it

Help us stop it

Help us save

Our children

Hear me

 

I bless them

Cherish them

Love them

 

This is the time

Now

 

Thank you     thank you     thank you

Amen

 

Memory: Date Night, 1967

Wendy W. Blumberg
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Date Night, 1967

That photo is a riot! I had bought this long pink dress that was on sale at Neiman Marcus in Dallas when Steve and I and our four little kids were visiting Steve’s oldest brother and his wife.

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Neiman Marcus, Dallas–present day

I thought it the most gorgeous dress I had ever had. I felt like a queen of something or other and that photo was taken when we were back in Waukegan on our way to some fancy function, tho, we never went to many fancy anythings in Waukegan. Maybe it was a wedding or formal dinner somewhere else. Anyway, I felt like the most fashionable creature. I posed for the photo that Steve took before we left for wherever we were going. I wore gloves, and carried a sequined bag that my mother-in law had given me when Steve and I were married. So elegant. So unlike me. But it was fun. Like dressing up in my mother’s clothes!

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Wendy’s granddaughter, Aster, posing with her Nana’s fancy date night purse.

One of Nana's elegant date night clutches Aster adores playing with during dress up time.

One of Wendy’s elegant date night bags that Aster adores playing with.

Prayer for the Nigerian School Girls

Wendy W. Blumberg

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Oh   Divine Creator
We call to You
In our prayer
We are One with You
As we are One with
Each other
And thus
Every young Nigerian girl
Taken in the night
Away from her school
And everything familiar
In her world
Oh   Divine Creator
In our Oneness
These beloved young girls
Are our daughters  too
We feel bereft    we grieve
For their families
Their mothers
Who do not know
Where their daughters are
Or how they have been
Treated
It is an abyss of terror
They feel
For their beloved girls

Oh  Divine Creator
Mother   Father of us all
Your Love is the greatest Power
In all the Universes
The greatest Power that radiates
In All  through All  as All
Bring this Power   this Love
To comfort them   keep them strong
Wherever they have been taken
And through this Power of Divine Love
Divine Life
We pray without ceasing
With gratitude our prayer
Is heard
That every young Nigerian girl
Stolen
Be safely returned to her family
And may Your blessed Angels
Be ever their guardians
Lord Michael Himself
To bring them home

Thank you     Thank you    Thank you
And so it is……..Amen

For He has charged His angels

To guard you wherever you go          —Psalm 91.11

Author Bio

Wendy W. Blumberg

WendyWendy Wolff Blumberg was born in Chicago, Illinois. She and her husband, Stephen, lived in his hometown of Waukegan, Illinois, until they moved to Manhattan Beach, California, in 1970 with their four children and two dogs. Wendy studied poetry with the well-known poet and actor Jack Grapes, in his workshops at Beyond Baroque in Venice, California. In 2012, she and Stephen moved to the retirement community of La Costa Glen in Carlsbad, California, where they live happily and gratefully being with new friends.

March 29, 2014

Wendy W. Blumberg

Hello everyone! This is so new to me, exciting and somewhat overwhelming; but thanks to my daughter, Dina Rose McQueen—my wonderful editor—I am dipping my toes into the 21st Century. Whoo Hoo!

Since this is a Memoir Journal, I’ll relate to you my very first memory! I lived on the second floor of a three-story apartment building. I think I could not have been more than three or four years old. The front door of our apartment opened close to the stairway. One afternoon I was alone in the apartment with our housekeeper, my parents being at work. They had not yet divorced and my father was at his studio painting, my mother working as a social worker at the Jewish Children’ Bureau. This was in Chicago. I remember the apartment was quiet. Our dog, a Scottish terrier who didn’t like me, was asleep under the piano that was near the front door. He was waiting for my mother to return home. When I would get down on my hands and knees to look at him close to his face, he would growl at me. Never bit me though.

Well to get my to my first memory, as Chummy the Scotch terrier was an on going memory—I even had to take him out to do his “business” when I got old enough, which was probably around five or six—Chummy would run off and I would have to chase after him down the street. Life was very different in the l930’s; kids could go out by themselves and no one worried.

Well, to get back to my very first memory—again—I opened the front door of our apartment, looked out at the stairway and the hallway—very dim light—and said to myself: From this time on I am going to remember! And that is my first memory!

Be safe … be well … be happy.

Love, Wendy